


Last Night of Freedom

by Gleaming_Spires (cuppaktea)



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett
Genre: Dakin going off his head, Fluff, M/M, but it somehow became Darwin fluff, est relationships, rated teen entirely for Dakin's mouth, written because I needed Scosner fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24002944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires
Summary: Some people say that getting married is one of the most stressful times in your life... But the people who say that probably mean for the ones who are actually getting married
Relationships: David Posner/Donald Scripps, Stuart Dakin/Tom Irwin
Comments: 18
Kudos: 15





	Last Night of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be more silliness and it morphed into something sweet all by itself.
> 
> Let me know if you enjoy it anyway - or drop me a prompt if you like :)

“When you said you had news…”

The restaurant isn’t one of their favourites, it's bright, new and mid-priced, the atmosphere private without being intimate. It could be the perfect setting for a number of announcements, and it makes Tom’s insides squirm with nerves.

“Scripps wants me to organise his stag do”

“Stuart!” He feels his face turn red and then white alarmingly rapidly and grabs the menu to hide behind.

“What?”

“You absolute bastard! You brought me out to dinner because ‘we needed to talk’. You had something big to tell me!”

“This is big!”

“I thought you were leaving me, or… proposing, or that you’d just found out you had a secret lovechild!”

“This is a far bigger deal than any of that”

“What’s the problem?” He asks, immediately settling on a large and expensive bottle of wine “Sounds like it’s right up your alley. You’re paying by the way.”

“Yeah, sure. You’d think so, except he wants it to be tasteful” He imbues the word with as much venom as possible.

“Oh, dear” Irwin gripes, not really listening anymore.

“Like, I don’t even know what that is –a tasteful stag do! Why bother at all? And even if I were to ignore what he says, then his weird sexuality means strippers are out, and that’s not even the worst of it – Posner’s going to be there”

Tom peeks above the menu to frown. “Won’t he be at his own do?”

“No. They’re doing it on separate weekends, so they can go to both. What is wrong with them? If they want a day at an art gallery that’s fine, but why do I have to be involved?”

“I’m wondering the same thing myself”

“What’s got into you?”

“Same as will be getting into you later. Absolutely nothing.”

“I know you’re in a mood but you’re so fucking sexy when you’re crude”

In spite of his moaning, the next time he meets Scripps, Dakin is armed with a small notebook of ideas and a rough plan.

“Ok, so I’ve got an idea for your stag…”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise, run it past Pos”

Dakin stares at him in open-mouthed horror. “You want me to run the details of your stag do past your future husband?”

“Yes. But I should warn you, based on how happy you look, it’s a no”

“What do you have against fun?”

“I’ve got nothing against fun. I just don’t want to wake up in a skip with an illegal level hangover and my eyebrows shaved off a week before my wedding”

“Christ, you’re so boring”

“Are you inviting Timms, by the way?”

“I thought you wanted a surprise”

Scripps rolls his eyes. “Well if you are, under no circumstances is he to bring any of those blue pills he had the last time, understand?”

“Boring!” He throws himself back into his seat and accidentally sloshes half a pint of bitter down his front.

At home, he paces around the living room, thinking aloud and swigging aggressively from a bottle of beer, while on the sofa Irwin attempts to read.

“The very foundations of a stag do are: one - heavy drinking, well, that’s out because he doesn’t want to feel ill the next day; two - a strip club, that’s out because he’s only attracted to Pos and, for some bizarre reason, Nick Knowles. I’d do it anyway but Pos will be there which takes all the fun out. So we’re going to have to do some activity totally sober, as a gang, with his other half. It’s going to be awkward as fuck. He’s such a twat”

“I agree with you there”

He stops pacing as a thought strikes him.

“If we get hitched, you won’t insist on coming on my stag do with me, will you?”

“No fear!”

“And you wouldn’t mind if I got blatted and spent a night looking at strippers?”

Tom stands and stretches. “You could do what you liked. I would be too busy on my own last night of freedom to care. Night”

“Right. Hang on, what would that involve? Tom?”

He stops in the doorway and smiles serenely “I wouldn’t tell you, would I? That would defeat the point”

“I told you my plans”

“It doesn’t matter anyway, because nobody’s talking about getting married” He heads to bed still smiling.

“There’s no need to look so lascivious though” Stu scowls after him.

The glow of the laptop wakes Tom in the small hours.

“Stuart?”

“What’s better, do you reckon, Barcelona or Paris?” He answers as though they were in the middle of a chat and it wasn’t three o’clock in the bloody morning.

Rubbing his gritty eyes, Tom forces himself into a sitting position.

“Is this a code?”

“For the stag”

“Oh God” He thwacks at the bedside lamp – it takes a few goes before it turns on, but it makes him feel better. “You’re going to take a group of lads on a sober weekend away?”

“Why not?”

“What will you do there?”

“Art galleries, museums... I haven’t thought it all through yet”

“It sounds like a school trip. What will you do in the evenings?”

“Drink sensibly? Ugh, I’ve no idea”

“Sounds like a lot of stress to put on yourself”

“I’m the best man. That involves two things: organising an amazing stag and giving a hilarious speech at the reception. I don’t want to screw this up”

“Here’s a novel idea. Why not ask Scripps what he wants?”

“Cos… I mean… you think it will work?”

“Can’t hurt” He shrugs, turning to pummel his pillow into shape “And maybe I can get some sleep then”

“Well, that was a complete waste of time” He hangs up the phone with an angry jab.

Tom yawns into his morning coffee and tries to summon the energy to feign interest.

“What did he say?”

“He said he wants a surprise and that he has faith in me to organise something fun yet tasteful. I’ve heard of bridezillas but Scripps is some sort of groom-monster”

“You’ll manage. I believe in you”

Dakin lets out a frustrated growl. “Will people stop believing in me and start bloody helping!”

The next week sees their flat turn into a mission control of sorts. Usually opposed to any kind of clutter or mess, Dakin covers the coffee table in travel booklets and brochures and sticks a huge mindmap on the door of the fridge, to add to whenever he makes tea (something he’s been avoiding as a result), the dining table is buried beneath piles of spreadsheets and pamphlets. It all looks distressingly serious.

With six weeks to go until the wedding, Tom wakes during the night a couple of times and finds Stu pacing the sitting room and muttering to himself about surfing or lazer-questing.

With a month to go to the big day, Dakin is tearing his hair out in chunks in front of his mindmap (which has two things written on it: ‘Chessington’ and ‘barbeque’) when the phone rings. Not that he pays it any mind, but Tom appears at his elbow a moment later.

“It’s Scripps. For you”

“Hi Dakin, How’s it going?” He sounds sickeningly cheerful.

He glances worriedly at the blank space of his mindmap. “Good, yeah. The stag’s pretty much sorted”

Scripps laughs. He thinks he can hear Posner laughing too and has a stab of irrational fear that even now they can see the desperate workings of his terrified brain.

“About that, Dakin. I’m really sorry mate but we won’t be needing your services after all. We’re eloping.

“What?”

“To Paris. In about… fifteen minutes. We’re at St Pancras now”

Stu feels like he’s about to faint. “Why?”

“It’s more romantic, isn’t it?”

And God he can hear them kissing, he must have the phone pressed to his ear and Posner to his mouth.

“No, why did you have me organising the stag?

“Had to keep you busy somehow or you’d have worked it out. You’re my first choice for best man, but I couldn’t have you there and not my own parents, so we’re just going to get a couple of people in off the street”

Scripps’ grin is bright even via the phone.

"What if I'd already booked something? I nearly organised a weekend away for twelve people!"

"Yeah, except you didn't, I knew you wouldn't. I made it too hard"

“You fucking fucker! I nearly drank myself into liver failure here worrying about this!”

“I promise we can get pissed together when we get back”

“Fuck, I can hear you snogging will you stop?!”

“'Snogging’ what are you, four?” There’s a distorted voice over the tannoy. “Listen, Dakin, we’ve got to go, that’s the Eurostar, wish us luck”

“Fuck the both of you…. And you know, congratulations”

“Thanks, Dakin” Posner calls, his voice as clear as Scripps’. He imagines them, cheek to cold-pinked cheek, sharing the phone, giggling and smooching in the departures lounge, like teenagers after a decade and a half together.

He fills Tom in once they’ve hung up – he is noticeably relieved and doesn’t share even a fraction of Stuart’s annoyance. Stu supposes he can understand after the past few weeks.

“Sorry if I‘ve been a bit…”

He leaves it hanging, letting Tom finish that how he wants. But Tom is smiling. 

“Don’t worry about it. He’s your best mate”

“But one” He amends, laying a hand on Tom’s knee.

Tom smiles one of those soppy genuine smiles that he reserves just for him and Stu’s insides glow warm and bright, like a welcome fire in the hearth.

He clears his throat. “If I were to suggest that we get a civil partnership… I mean theoretically…?”

“Are you saying I’m going to get my decadent last night of freedom?”

“Only if you wanted it”

And fuck, but he’s never felt so nervous in all his life. He isn’t sure how he got here, from taunting this man in the classroom for having the audacity to know more than him, to being close enough to count each freckle on his nose, and still not close enough.

He blinks and he isn’t sure whether he’s moved closer or whether Tom has, but he can’t see anything anymore but those luminous eyes. Tom’s breath is soft against his lips; he’s pretty sure he's stopped breathing altogether.

“Yes” Tom whispers just before their lips meet.


End file.
